Too Close
by DeducingSherlock
Summary: When John is discharged from the war, he makes a deal with Jim Moriarty to gain the trust of a man named Sherlock Holmes in exchange for money. If only he had known what he was getting himself into. If only he had known who Sherlock was before. If only he hadn't gotten too close.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_Sherlock Holmes is dead._

_Those four words have haunted my life for the past two years. Every time I close my eyes I can see him standing on the ledge of the roof at Bart's, jumping from the building to greet his death._

_I'm writing this account now because I feel partially responsible in my best friend's death. I never would have done any of this if it had meant that he would have died. I take that back, I would have never gotten involved in this in the first place if I had known who Sherlock Holmes really was._

_It is my fault that he jumped from the building that day and committed suicide._

_It is my fault that the world's greatest consulting detective is now dead._

_It is my fault so therefore I must pay the consequences for my actions._

_This is my note. If you read this, you know what that means._

_I said once that nothing interesting ever happens to me. I lied._

_Sherlock Holmes was the most interesting thing that ever happened to me and he's dead._

_It's time I was too._

_Sincerely,_

_John Hamish Watson_

John didn't know why he insisted on signing his full name to the note; he just felt if he was going to leave one, he should do it right.

He pushed himself away from the desk, sighing and rubbing his hands over his face. He had fought this battle of guilt for so long, it'd be nice to finally be at peace. He knew it was cowardly what he was about to do. If he was brave, he'd live with the consequences of his actions, but he just couldn't. It was all too much.

John stood up and walked over to the window, looking down at the street below.

His life had fallen to ruin since Sherlock left.

He had tried to move on, to forget the pain of the past, but it followed him like a dark storm cloud. Every where he turned, he thought he saw Sherlock standing amongst the crowd. Every voice that drifted through the air, he thought he could hear Sherlock's mingled among them. He knew that it was unwise that he involved himself too much with Sherlock. He knew it was a mistake to get his heart involved. That was not his assignment.

John clenched his hands into fists.

The assignment. Why the hell did he have to get that bloody assignment?

Sure he was just discharged from the war and was in desperate need of money.

Sure he was willing to do whatever it took to live a comfortable, civilian life again.

But why did he agree to gain the trust of a complete stranger in order to teach the enemy, to teach Jim Moriarty, how to make him fall?

And why did the fall have to be a literal one?

If only John could have convinced him not to jump.

If only John had been brave enough to tell Sherlock the truth.

John closed his eyes, feeling his body tremble as the emotions hit him full force.

It was time to end this.

John left the note out somewhere where someone would easily happen upon it. Taking a deep breath, John left the room and walked up to the roof.

Here he was. On the roof of Bart's.

He walked over to the ledge where he had seen Sherlock standing and looked down at the sidewalk below where people milled about. They were completely oblivious to what was about to happen right above them.

"_Goodbye John..."_

The memory of Sherlock's voice whipped through his memory, causing him to close his eyes again.

"You can do this John...you can do this...just count to three and fall...it'll be over with soon..."

He tried to coach himself out loud, hoping that it would help him fall already.

He was ready to die.

He was ready to be judged for what he did.

He was ready to take the fall.

* * *

He was a consulting detective. A famous one at that. So why was it so bloody hard to find one person? Sherlock sighed in frustration after checking out the address Mycroft had given him. When Mycroft had told Sherlock that it was time for him to go back to London, the first thought on his mind concerned John. He had missed him these last two years. He felt terrible for making John think that he was dead, but he didn't want Moriarty's men to hurt him. He cared too much about him to let that happen.

Care. There was that word again. Sherlock found himself caring more and more for John each and every time he thought about him. He was a sociopath. Sociopaths shouldn't feel care toward another human being. But here Sherlock was, caring for John. It was an odd sensation for Sherlock, but one that he found himself growing used to with every passing hour.

But where was John?

Sherlock dug out his phone as he walked, dialing Mycroft's number.

_"Mycroft Holmes speaking." _

"Mycroft, where is John? I went to his flat and he's not there."

_"Maybe he's out socializing. He's had two years away from you. He's probably moved on with his life and is happy now." _

Sherlock scowled as he walked through the crowd with the phone to his ear. Sure it had been two years, but John couldn't forget him that easily, could he?

"I still want to see him again."

_"Patience baby brother. Wait for him to turn back up at the flat."_

"I don't have time for patience."

Sherlock hadn't watched where he was wandering and soon found himself walking in the direction of Bart's.

Mycroft sighs on the other end of the line.

_"Remember Sherlock, caring is not an advantage. You'll only end up getting hurt." _

_"__Too late," _he thought to himself as he paused in his walk.

By this point he was standing right outside Bart's, in the exact spot where he had pretended to be dead. Sherlock sighed at the memories that flooded back through him. He had felt John touch his wrist to check for a pulse. It took all he had in him to not open his eyes and tell him that he was alive; that he was just going away for a little bit.

"Look Mycroft, I appreciate your concern..." Sherlock looked upward toward the roof as he talked, "...but I really think I'm..."

As Sherlock looked up, he sees that there is a faint shadow of a person standing on the ledge. Even though Sherlock can't get a good view of the person's face from where he stood, he recognized the familiar silhouette of the body against the blue sky. It was John.

"I'm going to have to call you back Mycroft."

He immediately hung up his phone and pushed his way into Bart's, running up the stairs.

_"No John. Don't jump. I'm alive. I'm here."_

Sherlock allowed these thoughts to consume his mind as he ran up the stairs as fast as he could. He just hoped that he wouldn't be too late.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_Flashback_

"_I can always count on you John Watson. You always keep me straight."_

_John looked at Sherlock. The glass that he had in his hand was devoid of alcohol for the fifth time tonight. John could already feel the effects of the drinks on his thinking and actions. It felt like he was viewing Sherlock at the moment, through a warped lens._

"_Me? What makes me special?"_

_Sherlock smiled at him drunkenly as he downed his sixth glass of alcohol. He attempted to point a shaky finger at John and poked him in the chest._

"_'Cause you are my friend...my only one too."_

"_The infamous Sherlock Holmes has a friend now does he?"_

_Sherlock chuckled, hiccupping once as the alcohol settled in his stomach. He leaned back in his seat._

"_I'm even deducing that one day it may be..." _

_Sherlock trails off, closing his eyes as the room spins around him._

"_May be what Sherlock?.." John asks, leaning drunkenly toward him._

_Sherlock opened his eyes to look at John one more time before smiling drunkenly and saying, "It may be something more..."_

* * *

John shook off that flashback. He remembered the rest of that night as he stood standing on the ledge. Nothing had ever happened. John was too aware to let anything happen. Not that he didn't want that of course, but he didn't want to take advantage of Sherlock while he was drunk. Besides, he probably didn't mean what he had been saying. He was Sherlock Holmes, a high-functioning sociopath. It wasn't possible for him to have feelings of affection, especially toward him.

John took another deep breath, looking down at the ground below. He could do this. No more memories of Sherlock. Maybe he'd actually be able to be reunited with him. Or maybe not because of what he did...

What he did. John closed his eyes in pain. He wished desperately for a chance to make that right; a chance to ask for Sherlock's forgiveness, but he knew that would take a miracle. He had stopped believing in miracles two years ago.

"I'm sorry Sherlock..." John said out loud, a single tear slipping down his cheek as his breath shook. "Please forgive me."

* * *

Sherlock finally made it on to the rooftop. He saw John standing there, a couple of feet away and immediately panicked. What if, by yelling out to him, he caused John to fall anyway because he thought he was crazy? What if he didn't yell, but still couldn't save John because he couldn't run there fast enough?

All he knew was that he couldn't stand there and do nothing. He had to try something.

Without another thought, Sherlock quickly jogged toward where John was standing. As he got closer, he could hear what John was saying.

"I'm sorry Sherlock...please forgive me..."

He almost faltered in his approach, puzzled by what John was saying. Forgive him? For what? He should be the one that was asking for forgiveness. He had been the one to fake his death for two years and hurt his one true friend. What did John have to be sorry for?

"I wish I had a chance to see him again...to let him know..."

"You'll have a chance to now if you don't jump."

* * *

That voice.

No. No it couldn't be.

"_It's in your head John. It's like all those other times you thought you heard Sherlock's voice. It's all in your memory."_

John took another shaky breath and stepped out a little further on the ledge.

"John! No!"

Sherlock's voice. Again.

It sounded so real. So...outside his head.

"You're not real...you're not real!" he said out loud. "You've lost it John. It really is time to end it all."

Before John could step out any further on the ledge though, someone wrapped their arms about his waist and yanked him away.

"Let me go!" he shouted, struggling to free himself, struggling to die and be free of this pain.

The person who had his grip around John slowly brought him down to a sitting position on the roof, keeping his grip firm. John still fought to get free; tears stinging the corners of his eyes as he clawed at the open air.

"Let me go! Can't you see I just want to die already? Why not let me?"

"John...what has happened to you?"

This time Sherlock's voice broke with sadness. John knew it must be in his head then. Sherlock never displayed emotions. This couldn't be him.

"Let me go!"

He repeated those three words, hoping that his captor would finally give it to his request. However, that hope was soon dashed as the grip tightened.

"I already let you go once...I'm not letting you go again. I'm sorry John."

"No...no! You're not real! You're in my head!" John shouted, his body shaking as tears leaped from his eyes. "I watched you die! I buried you! You _can't _ be real!"

John could feel himself be adjusted and soon he was looking up into those familiar ocean blue eyes.

"I'm not dead...I'm right here...I'm sorry John..."

Sorry? First Sherlock sounded upset and now he was sorry? This had to be a dream. John shook some more, shaking his head.

"You're never sorry for anything that you do! You always do it and expect people to understand! You think just because you're Sherlock bloody Holmes that you can do anything you please and it has no repercussions. No...you can't be real. The real Sherlock Holmes never apologized."

* * *

What the hell had happened to John since he "died"?

John was a complete wreck. The John that he remembered was valiant. He would never be a coward. He was always brave, willing to bear anything. This John wanted to die, to escape the world. This was not the John he used to know.

And it was all his fault.

"I don't care what you think John, you're wrong. I am sorry; more sorry than I have ever been in my entire life. I'm real. I'm here and I will never leave you again."

"I don't believe you," said John, his voice wavering. "I don't believe you!"

John's voice grew louder as he shouted it in his face. Sherlock winced momentarily. John was broken. He had never seen anyone so broken in his entire life. John was a broken man and it was now his job to fix him.

"What will it take to make you believe me then?"

John's eyes looked up into his, searching them; as if the answers were all hidden there.

"But you were dead...I watched you die..."

"It was all a magic trick, John. You can't get rid of me that easily," he said, smirking slightly.

His attempt at a joke just seemed to make John more on edge. Tears started racing faster down John's face as he sobbed, turning to bury his face in his shirt.

"Oh Sherlock...I missed you so much..."

He wrapped his arm around John, hushing him, trying to comfort him. He held John as his body continued to shake with tears.

"I missed you too John, but I'm back now. I'm so sorry. I'm never leaving you again."

* * *

Sherlock.

For the past two years every time he had thought that name, it had brought nothing but heartache and tears.

And now he was back.

Sherlock. His best friend, his confidant, his hero, his life, his heart...was alive.

Sherlock was alive!

As he managed to stop crying as much, he brought his head up to look at Sherlock again.

"Where have you been these last two years then if you weren't dead?"

"I had to take down Moriarty's network. I had to take down every single member of its party before I could return."

Moriarty. That name sent a shiver down his spine. Sherlock must not know then that he was a part of Moriarty's network for a bit. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe he should just keep the truth hidden...but no. He had begged for a chance to ask for Sherlock's forgiveness and it was time he told him the truth.

"So you took down _all_ of the members of Moriarty's network?" he asked, looking at Sherlock.

"Yes," he said confidently.

"Well, I beg to differ Sherlock," he said, biting his lower lip in fear.

"You mean I missed a member?" asked Sherlock looking at John. "Who?"

John took a deep breath before letting it out shakily.

"Me."


End file.
